Chemistry of the Alchemical Acids
by Polarissruler
Summary: Hendrickson goes to Greycastle's town on a political mission. While it has never been his strong suit, he knows the king always has a reason for his ideas. But when he meets another lover of alchemy, he realizes exactly why the king chose him.


**AN: Here you go, ladies and gentelmen! A story wirtten by a chemistry nerd in high school that loves everything fuming, toxic and corrosive. It is such a pity that Release That Witch doesn't have more fics - so, I hope this one would be a stepping stone for more! Tell me if I can make it better!**

**Disclaimer: Release That Witch and The Seven Deadly Sins don't belong to me - otherwise, Ban/Meliodas would have been offcial!**

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The prince sat at his deck, looking at the heavy door in front of him. He counted the seconds left until the next meeting, his hands shaking so much he was afraid to touch the piles of documents that always piled around him. He should not be afraid, of course; ever since he took the mantle of Roland, the engineer had met numerous representatives, had forged many treaties and started his industrial revolution, running on magic, steel, and wits.

Yet the former prince – as dumb and useless as he had been – at least had some bits of information about his own kingdom. Yet the visitor today was coming from another country; the distant kingdom of Liones. Roland barely recognized the name and decided to read the chronicles. But they – tainted with the prejudices of times and alliances - confused him even more.

At least, few details stayed consistent over the pages and Roland hoped they could hold. First, despite the country's small size, it had incredible military power – both enough to be a major power and to avoid occupation by a nearby, bigger country. Yet all those achievements were ignored in the more recent works, replaced by slander that painted Liones as a witch-worshipping country, ruled by fiendish heretics.

Even if overblown in the name of propaganda, it still appeared Liones treated witches much differently. Maybe Roland could find an ally against the Church's dogma if needed…

The heavy doors opened and a butler announced the guest/

"Introducing Sir Hendrickson, Holy Knight of Kingdom Liones!"

A man befitting of the grand introduction came in. Clad in heavy purple robes – regalia for a king; not a noble, no matter how high his birth, he walked with a confident, proud step. His hand lingered at his belt, nearby the empty scabbard; maybe by habit, since he had to leave his weapon before coming in the palace. Even then, his presence commanded power and obedience; he was fit to lead a siege, not a conversation.

Roland made a sign to the guard. The doors closed.

"Welcome, Sir Hendrickson," said Roland coldly. He wanted to skip the etiquette as much as possible – he had much more work to do – but some traditions had to be observed. "You may sit."

The great man barely fit in the chair – most diplomates were not as fit or tall as him.

"If you would answer me one question, why did Liones send a diplomatic mission to my lands? We are just a remote Border Town at the edge of civilization."

"You are the monarch, Your Highness," answered Hendrickson. Despite his appearance, he sounded a bit anxious and Roland felt even more strongly his place was not at the meeting.

"Our king found about your father's unique exam. He decided it would be wise to check the candidates and offer our support to the one of our liking. It is never rash to choose an ally."

Roland carefully listened to his words. All in all, Liones wanted a satellite – a ruler they could manipulate for their own liking and in exchange, he got to manipulate them, too. An abusive relationship – but what were politics, if not threats, trickery and backstabbing?

"It would be a pleasure, if your King chooses to ally with me, Sir. How would the choice go? Are you planning to ask me questions?" Even then, Roland had to face reality – his town alone could not fight against the power of the Church. And if Liones accepted witches they would be a natural ally.

"It happens to be so," answered Hendrickson. "There is only one thing I wish to know, however. Could you tell me your position on the witches?"

Either fate loved playing tricks, or Liones had a spy in the palace and Roland did not believe in a thing like destiny. "Despite the teachings of the church, I do not think one can brand a group of people with amazing if misunderstood, abilities as soulless monsters simply for existing. Thus, Border Town accepts witches, no matter what others may think." It was the riskiest trick in politics – Roland spoke the truth. He allowed himself a little smile and kept speaking. "Even if the history brands us as fiendish heretics."

Hendrickson laughed quietly, hiding his mouth with a hand. "Interesting. Is this what they are calling us now? But I feel grateful that there is another ruler that shares our sentiment. We even have a lot of people with supernatural skills in high positions, myself included."

Oh, a new surprise! (Hopefully) holding his excitement back, Roland smiled. "Could you show your skills to me, if it is not too much of a problem? In Graycastle only women could use magic and I would like to see the powers of people in Liones."

For a second, worry passed through the face of Hendrickson. Roland worried he had broken some unspoken taboo of Liones, which the historians forgot to mention, but then the knight resumed the conversation.

"It would not be a problem, Your Majesty. Could I have a little piece of paper? Something you would not mind sacrificing?"

Roland nodded and opened a little cupboard in his deck. So many drafts of bills, buried there by the passage of time and forgotten, laid there, that the door struggled to open for a moment. He took one paper, scratched so much that it would not be of use ever again, and gave it to the knight. "Use as much as you wish," he offered calmly.

Hendrickson tore off a little piece and put it in his hand. Liquid, thick like oil, covered it and began fuming. The paper turned black like coal and rapidly oozed out of his hand in big, spongey mass. Could it be? The knight's words confirmed Roland's theory.

"This is my ability. I can produce any kind of acid from my body – in this case, oil of vitriol. I know it appears as purely destructive, but as an alchemist, I find it quite useful and…"

Roland slammed hands on his deck. With eyes, lit from excitement, he shouted: "Amazing!" His mind would have stopped him – but it was too busy to wander through imaginary factories in his mind.

Vitriol. The old name for sulfuric acid. The backbone of all chemical industry – and there was a man that could produce tons of it without effort!

Plastics, fertilizers, paper… Even if the stage, where such things could be produced industrially seemed so far away, Roland could not wait!

"I am surprised there is a ruler that understands the finer points of alchemy. Never before I have seen someone of your standing that realized its charms," said Hendrickson.

"Those other leaders are fools!" answered boldly Roland. Still away in his dreamland factory, he mixed and matched many ideas. "They don't understand all the uses of vitriol and nitric acid and…"

"Nitric acid? May I ask, what is that concoction? I have never heard of it before."

The factory broke so quickly that Roland's head fell on the deck. Of course, they would use different names at such an ancient age – if they had nitric acid at all! Come on, think! There was that thing he learned at high school, something that contained it and was used so long ago…

"The water… for kings? Can you make that?" Roland realized how stupid his words were, but he could not care less. His factory was just within reach and he wished to grasp it…

"Aqua regia, Your Majesty? Of course, I can make that – but I advise against. It boils and can eat through many objects around us – including your skin."

"Can you make its ingredients?" Roland held the desk so hard that his nails dug in the wood. He needed that imaginary factory – the backbone of his future industry.

"It is easy, yet again not recommended. While muriatic acid tends to stay peaceful, foxtail produces brown, deadly fumes." Hendrickson did not sound worried – in fact, he seemed to be almost proud.

Nitric acid – the other important item. Roland had it in his hands.

"Sir Hendrickson, I hope your king chooses me as an ally."

Hendrickson nodded, breaking the etiquette; but they had broken so many parts that it hardly mattered. "I hope so, too, Your Majesty."


End file.
